The Talk
by Starkers
Summary: Tony comes home to an anxious husband. Steve is too embarrassed to do anything. Peter's virtue is in question. StevexTony, implied sexy things, Superfamily. Rated M to cover my ass.


**The Talk**

It was an ordinary night on which Tony Stark finally pushed himself away from his work and went to find his husband. A sizzling sound in the kitchen was the only hint as to where Steve might be. Tony followed his nose and ears, moving stealthily into the kitchen. Steve had his back turned, frying up something, most likely chicken. Tony stole up behind him, wrapping his arms around the tall blonde.

"Honey, I'm home. Mm, chicken?" Much as Tony would have liked to lean over Steve's shoulder to kiss his cheek, his lack of sufficient height hindered that plan. He settled for squeezing his husband tightly. When Steve barely looked up, Tony frowned and attempted to wriggle between his husband and the stove.

"What's going on?" Steve's expression was pinched and his forehead was wrinkled with a frown. His intense blue eyes were conflicted and he focused on Tony, then away again. The brunette cocked an eyebrow.

"Hm. Well, if you're not going to tell me, I could tickle it out of you." All that earned him was a glare.

"Steve, seriously. What's wrong?" A long sigh drew out over Tony's face, direct from his husband's lips.

"I think… that you… need to have a _talk_ with Peter." At this, the short husband's previously cocked eyebrow skyrocketed. Steve blushed heavily, blood staining his cheeks prettily, and pushed Tony aside, tending to the chicken, which had nearly burned.

"A talk? What kind of talk?" Tony went to the fridge, popping open a can of coke. He took a long swig, looking around the medium-sized kitchen. Most of the surfaces were covered in trays of fresh cookies. He frowned.

"Steve, how long have you been in this kitchen?"

"A few hours…"

"Are you sure?" From the sheer amount of cookies, it looked like Steve had been "anxious baking" (as it was fondly termed in the Stark-Rogers household) all day.

"No."

"What kind of talk do I need to have with Peter, and why can't you do it? He likes you better, you know." Steve turned around, taking the chicken off the heat and looked hard at Tony.

"He doesn't like me better. In case you hadn't noticed, our son has been spending a fair amount of time in his bedroom… _alone_." The statement was pointed, but Tony conveniently missed it.

"Steve, the kid's a science geek. I'm… actually kinda proud of that. He's probably reviewing the periodic table or working out a new molecular compound or something."

"But that's just _it_, Tony! Don't tell me you haven't… heard him." Steve's cheeks coloured even more and Tony frowned, pointing a finger at the roof and lowering his voice.

"_Heard_ him?"

"Yes. Groaning. _Grunting_. Tony, this is a serious issue. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." Tony laughed, tipping his head back and slinging his arms about his husband's waist.

"Steve, darling, he's seventeen. He's entitled to knock one out every now and again. Besides, don't tell me you never…" He gave Steve a knowing look. Steve looked anywhere but at Tony.

"I just… I really think you should talk to him about it. Please?" Tony planted an affectionate kiss on Steve's cheek.

"Okay. If it really concerns you and your 1940s morals so much, I will."

"Oh, don't be mean." Steve stuck his tongue out behind his husband's back.

"Saw that."

Tony rapped sharply on Peter's bedroom door. After a few moments and some muffled, hurried noises, his teenage son opened the door, caterpillar eyebrows raised. His oversized, black-framed glasses were hastily pushed up his long nose, caught just short of falling off and there was a light blush across his cheekbones. Tony raised his eyebrows at his son, who was blocking the way in.

"May I come in?" Peter shrugged, opening up wider so his father could enter. Tony surveyed the room, clean by Peter's standards, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He patted the space next to him. Peter sat, wiping his hands on his tight black jeans nervously. Tony pretended he didn't notice the tiny smears of sticky substance left behind. It was an interesting combination of opaque silver and white. His eyes locked on his son's.

"Pete… I understand that you're probably feeling a bit _curious_ about your body and how it works," he began. Peter groaned, flopping back onto his bed.

"_Daaaad_, oh my _Goooood_," he griped, but Tony persisted.

"All I ask is that you try to keep it down in here. You're terrorizing your father." Peter snorted, laughing with embarrassment. His face was flushed bright red, from his chin to the roots of his hair and the tips of his ears.

Tony looked around again and caught a glimpse of Peter's computer desktop picture. It was of a pretty blonde girl. He motioned.

"She's very pretty. You have good taste. Blondes, huh? Just like me." Peter whacked him with his pillow.

"Not like you'd know much about having taste in women, Dad." Tony scoffed, giving his son a wink.

"I will have you know that before I met your father, I was very much the playboy. I slept with my fair share of women, Peter. Perhaps more than my fair share."

"Ew! That's so gross!"

"All I'm trying to say, son, is that you need to be a bit more subtle and perhaps we need to get you a 'Do Not Disturb' sign. Okay?" Tony stood to leave. "Tell your father I spoke to you and that it was sufficiently awkward, alright?"

"I'll make sure to tell him. Thanks."

"Oh, and if you ever wanna talk about anything else… You know where to find me." Tony took a moment to stare meaningfully at his son. Peter shifted uneasily, and Steve called out from below to come for dinner.

"-Peter?"

"Never mind. It… It can wait."

"Alright. But if I ever catch you fucking that pretty blonde girl, there will be trouble. You'd better believe it." Peter ducked his head, groaning and heading downstairs.

Later that night, Peter awoke from a fitful sleep, sitting bolt upright, fists clenched oddly - his pointer and little fingers were extended. And that weird spiderweb stuff absolutely _covered_ his room.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, flopping back and covering his face. In the adjacent room, Tony heard the curse and sniggered. Steve covered his ears with his hands.


End file.
